Closure
by Little Blossom
Summary: Oneshot FujiRyo Ryoma desired that satisfaction of closure, it didn't even matter what form it came in, but it was through closure that he could begin again.


**Closure**

If there was one thing Ryoma understood other than the mechanics and world of tennis, it would have to be that everything had an ultimate finish. There was never only one definite end, never only one single path, for there were always multiple possibilities. He found that which didn't have a complete finish nagged and grew irritably on the mind. It'd grow worse over time until it'd finally collapse, uproot and disappear in one of its various forms. It could appear as accomplishment, spite, or some other shape that created closure. Either way, unfinished thoughts were stirring in Ryoma's mind, prodding in quiet whispers that made his control feel hunted. Playing victim to his emotions was not something he tolerated.

Being prey to something your own self created would leave you vulnerable to be devoured on the tennis court.

Ryoma needed closure, that satisfaction of completion even if it came in the form of a loss. Losing just meant a battle was lost, but he always intended to win the war. He hated to lose, hated to accept it. But it showed him the truth in skill level, and from it he would become stronger and create a new truth. He needed that truth, because while lies and deceit could look so pretty and glamorous, it could never reach him in the way reality did.

As the whispers in his mind spoke their desires in hushed voices to him more frequently –frantic whenever he saw the source- it was then he decided to act upon it. He wanted the satisfaction of closure, wanted it so much he'd pass up any other offer.

'_There would be closure on Sunday,'_ he thought. He thought that any form would be welcome.

* * *

"Fuji-sempai?"

Fuji turned from the window he was staring out of. Spring was around the corner as it was still near the beginning of his final year before being University bound. He'd been mindlessly gazing out of the window in a vacant classroom, searching for the inspiration that gave him such recognition in his photos. He still played tennis on the school team, but that would end after this year. His interest for photography was starting to bloom beautifully, while competitive tennis (though he still enjoyed it) would have to end in favour for something much more appealing. It wasn't a difficult choice, whatever regrets he had were of no use to worry over.

He smiled pleasantly at Ryoma who stood by the doorway. Ryoma had long since lost his large childish eyes and his awkward boyish body. He stood almost at Fuji's full height (but he guessed in a few years Ryoma would be a couple inches taller), and although his body was skinny and still developing (having of yet to fill out), he had become a heartthrob that challenged the tennis world with still untapped potential.

"Saa… is there something I can help you with, Echizen-kun?"

"Ah," he nodded. Ryoma turned his golden eyes on Fuji, wearing the bored look he carried in his youth. "I wanted to ask you for a favour."

Fuji's smile brightened in amusement, almost teasing. "A favour? What could you possibly need my assistance for?"

Ryoma's eyes seemed to narrow slightly, getting sullen at Fuji's constant whimsical attitude. He would have to be straight to the point. If not, Fuji's airy attitude would lead them no where. "I want a game with you."

"Ah, I do see how you would need my assistance in that." His eyes opened to regard Ryoma with inquiring eyes. "And what brought on this desire to play me?"

Fuji knew that Ryoma probably wished he had his hat to pull over his eyes, the habit a characteristic he couldn't shake. School policies protested this action though, leaving the boy hatless at the moment. Instead he opted for looking past Fuji and out the window.

"I want to finish the game from three years ago. I want to start again from where we left off." He directed his gaze back to Fuji. "I want closure."

Fuji took this time to study boy wonder in front of him. His eyes were just as fierce as they were back then. The cry of battle was raging in that boy's blood, wanting a fight to decide stature until the full war came. _Perhaps the battle will meld into a war_, Fuji mused.

He closed the large gap before them, standing at only a metre away, trademark smile curving in amusement. "Alright then Echizen-kun, I'll finish the game with you. Hmm… let's see, I'm free this Sunday at noon. I rather have no school spectators though, they could be distracting. So, how about at the court by the bridge?"

"Ah, that should be fine." He dipped his head in acknowledgement. "I'll see you then, Fuji-sempai."

Fuji watched his retreating figure as he disappeared from his line of sight. He was very content at the moment, because truthfully, he wanted to finish this match as well. He never needed a satisfying closure to something so simple as this, any end would do. It was just a pleasant thought to look forward to. It would do well to amuse him until it, just like most things he'd enjoyed, lost its glamour and he moved on. This may be a passing meaningless fancy, but he still wanted to extract every little bit of potential from the ordeal.

And that was enough to make him smile.

* * *

Sometimes sacrifice and obstacles were presented in order to fulfill a mission or task. For in a story, when the climax comes, there are always trials and tribulations one must overcome in order to reach and succeed in the final act. It also always made the nectar of victory taste so much sweeter when obtained by battered and triumphant hands as every hardship finally finds justification.

Horns would sound in joy as everything ended happily ever after.

Ryoma wanted that. He would face any obstacle, sacrifice any temptation; there would be no more struggling in this race. It would finally end so he could begin again.

* * *

"Hey, so you wanna hang out tomorrow?" Momo was currently dragging a disgruntled Ryoma towards the school gate to go home. "I'm seeing Tachibana's little sis tomorrow and she asked if I could drag you along." He neglected to mention it was because she had some friends that were itching to meet the current genius heartthrob of Japan, and she'd conceded to them in amusement. They had yet to know how difficult he could be. "Come on, I'll even pay for lunch."

Tomorrow, Ryoma checked mentally, was Sunday. And while Ryoma never cared much for remembering dates, he always remembered days that involved tennis. Ryoma glanced at him. "Can't. Busy."

"Busy!?" Since when was Ryoma busy unless he had to play tennis? And even then, he mostly only wandered around with his tennis bag slung over his shoulder as he visited different courts. But that was never planned. Ryoma just did it when there was nothing else to do, tennis fused into his brain. "What are you busy with?"

"Meeting someone," he replied easily, passing through the gates. He got one step off school property before getting yanked back on with unstoppable force. Momo had become quite the power tank in his later teens.

"Oi!" Momo pulled him in close, mischievous smile beaming wide on his face. "You wouldn't happen to be dating some girl now would you?" At Ryoma's annoyed look he continued shamelessly. "So who is it? One of your fangirls who finally managed to get through that dense skull of yours, or perhaps you chased her instead? Come on, don't be shy. Tell me!"

Ryoma gave him a deadpan stare. "Unless you mean-"

His words died in his throat as footsteps approached from behind. Ryoma stopped to stare at the person while it took Momo a couple seconds to realize what was going on. Momo turned around and grinned nervously when he saw the conversation intruder looking at him with unnatural sharp and calculating eyes.

"Hey Fuji-sempai!" he greeted. "You're out early. You're usually in the school dark room at this time."

Fuji's eyes relaxed and gently closed as he then greeted him back with his usual smile. "Well, I couldn't find anything I wanted to take pictures off today. No point in wasting film." His eyes opened a fraction as he surveyed the scene. Ryoma was sure it was just for show and that Fuji already knew everything. "Now Momoshiro, you wouldn't be trying to get Echizen-kun to accompany you for all of tomorrow would you? He and I have a very special date planned."

"What? No! If he has plans with you already I won't try and interfere in on… wait a minute. What do you mean by date?" A horrified look crossed his face. He looked at Fuji, then back at Ryoma. He did this a couple of times, his neck oddly enough not suffering from whiplash. "You guys aren't… you can't be… I didn't know you were…"

Ryoma rolled his eyes as he smacked the back side of Momo' head. "Don't be an idiot, we're just playing tennis."

"I'm hurt Echizen-kun," said Fuji. "Do I mean nothing to you?"

"Your tennis skills, sure. Your personality, not really."

Momo still looked like a stunned sheep.

"It's nothing to worry about Momoshiro, Echizen speaks the truth. We're just playing a friendly little match tomorrow," he smiled kindly. "Why don't you go on ahead, I need to talk to him for a moment."

Momo nodded dumbly in response before taking off and shooting Ryoma an odd look.

"Ryoma, about tomorrow's game." He frowned slightly here. "I heard it's likely going to rain tomorrow. Did you still want to play even then?"

Ryoma gave him a slow knowing look in response. "Rain didn't stop us last time sempai. If one of us doesn't show up they automatically lose by default. Rain shouldn't matter."

Smile coming back into place, he laughed softly into his hand. "You're right Echizen-kun, it shouldn't matter. I apologize for asking you such a stupid question."

Ryoma smirked back at him. Rain or shine, offers for food or not, nothing could deter his mind from the appointed game. He would clear all hurdles to finish the race.

Fuji could only agree. Tomorrow would finally bring a conclusion to their long drawn out match from years ago.

Only through that end could Ryoma ever get that sweet nectar of justification.

* * *

Punctuality was never something Ryoma took to heart. As long as he got there and did what he had to do, he never worried about tardiness. He's made people wait, people have made him wait. It happens, and it's nothing worth fretting about if you can't change it. He couldn't be bothered to live his life around the clock. Making set predictions according to the time just made way for unpredictable incidents as there're too many independent variables in the world.

All that mattered was that he completed what he set out to do. As long as he didn't miss his opportunity, he didn't care how late he was.

Waiting wasn't a big deal either.

After all, good things were worth waiting for.

* * *

Fuji waited for hours the next day at the tennis court. Ryoma never showed. Even when he was sure without a doubt that Ryoma wouldn't come, he still waited while watching his surroundings, quiet eyes not missing a thing.

Something wasn't right. Ryoma never slept in this late.

He could hear the cars in the back of his mind, the violent splashes overpowering the soft pitter-pattering of the rain. He listened to the running water and felt the numbing cold seep into his damp skin. Water ran in rivulets from his hair and down his face in mock tears as he had to squint his eyes slightly to see through the blur of water. It was nearing dark, what little light that managed to seep through the thick clouds before now slowly fading. He could feel the warm murmur humming in his heart fading along with it. For some reason against his normal logic, he still expected to see Ryoma calmly appear with a disgruntled face, looking cutely drowned with rain, muttering quiet apologies for being late without sounding like he meant it at all.

Fuji frowned. It was Echizen that said that those who fail to show up would lose by default (just like a normal tennis match). Ryoma would never miss this game, the outcome still not clear. Though Fuji supposed he technically won the match, it wasn't what he wanted.

In the end he would win their battle, but the disappointment hung heavy. He was expecting the amusement and the thrill he got when he played Echizen a few years ago. The thrill was exhilarating, and he wanted to feel that once more. He wasn't satisfied with winning today at all.

He continued to sit on the bench during the downpour. The dulled sounds of cars splashing and sliding in the rain were falling deaf to his ears as an ache was starting to form in his chest.

The ache clenched tight when he received a phone call after six hours of waiting from Eiji.

His recalled how his mind went as numb as his rain-numbed body after a few hysterical words.

"_Fuji! Fuji! It's horrible, nya! I just got a call from Oishi! It's Ochibi! He… there… GAH! There's been an accident! He's in the hospital nya! He's not waking up! Fuji! Fuji! What are we going to do about Ochibi now that…" _

Even though Eiji had continued to ramble on endlessly in hysterics, Fuji had stopped listening after the word 'accident'.

And as all he could hear and feel now was the erratic burning throb of his heart, he realized that maybe he had been waiting for the wrong thing all along.

* * *

Ryoma knew the agitation waiting could bring. He knew what it felt like to have the second hand on the clock stop and start redundantly in slow pulsing ticks, each one appearing to linger longer with sadistic annoyance. He knew how the desired end to that timeless insanity felt like a free fall that would never come even though he knew it inevitably would. His mind would create agitation as it would question the laws of physics in an illogical thought process.

Time never stopped, slowed, sped or leapt. It always moved in a constant matter. Embracing its consistency was an impossible task.

When Ryoma was waiting for his turn to play tennis, hearing the ball hitting the court in rhythm felt like the slow second hand counting down in his head. And even when focusing on the game before him, his knees would bounce in anticipation. When Ryoma played tennis, each second was quick as adrenaline fuelled him on, him ignoring everything but the game and his tennis sense.

The passage of time was always consistent.

The passage of time after being filtered through ones head wasn't.

* * *

Staring at the ceiling wasn't very constructive Fuji knew, but that was all he seemed to be able to do at the moment. His body felt stiff and queasy as he lay on his bed, hands itching to clench the sheets but his mind refusing to let them.

He didn't want to be here. Not in his room where it was warm and safe. Not where the deceptive loving warmth of his home couldn't cure the pain in his chest.

To leave the overwhelming warmth meant getting passed his guard or leaving out the window where sharp barriers -which he couldn't bring himself to cross- stood.

Visiting hours would've been long over if he'd gone after receiving Eiji's call, family members only at that time. He had gripped his racket harshly at that time, feeling oddly like destroying something. He realised then that Ryoma meant more than tennis to him; the disappointment he'd normally feel from a default win over Ryoma being ignored and crushed by the heavy feeling in his chest.

His journey home had been traitorously annoying. The tempo of time kept changing in his head, confusing him as it'd switch from lingering and agitating, to quick and dizzy.

The rain made everything slick and ungraspable. The railings for the stairs were pointless. He was sure that if he were to fall at that moment, his hand would just fly downward as it'd slide down the railing, his body -without a doubt- would be tumbling with it. He made extra care not to fall in the friction lacking environment, never grasping onto anything as a precaution. Holding on was just an action of comfort that would deceive him as it would slip from his fingers, unclean and leaving marks.

He remembered how when he finally reached home (announcing his arrival too quietly to be heard) his sister immediately hurried down the stairs with her sixth sense whirling, her hand was gripping the steady banister as she upon seeing him saw through his smile. He never even realized he'd put it on. She'd hurried to get a towel and asked him if he was alright. Fuji easily said he was fine, his eyes closed and secretive as he forced his body to relax to a point it hurt. She left him alone after that to stay in his room, obviously not believing him, but letting him work out things on his own.

On the way to his room though, he passed his sisters. He noticed how the tarot cards were laid out on her dresser. He recognised some of them. One meant 'closure', or an end to lead way to a possible new beginning. Another one meant 'turbulence' or challenge. But there was another one that immediately caught his eye. It was one he saw as a child, and one where he thought the picture was hauntingly beautiful with its colouring and wispy details. When he'd asked what it meant, she smiled and said it was a very complicated card. She said it represented a change in time, usually unfortunate, but it depended on the card combinations. When younger Fuji said he still didn't understand, she smiled again, a little uneasily that time. After a pause she finally replied. Fuji had always remembered her words though.

'_It means there will be a change of pace as usually someone's life will flip around completely. It usually means there will be a painful process to follow. I hope you never see this card Syuusuke. It's very flexible and unpredictable. Good never seems to come from it, and it can be very dangerous.'_

Sometimes he wished his sisters' predictions weren't so accurate.

He wanted to see Ryoma, wanted to see his snarky grin with his confident attitude which he found so very endearing. Realizing the fact that his feelings for Ryoma went beyond tennis were confusing and had dazed him. Emotional attachments were not something that happened often for him. The desire to see him while fancying him ached. He wouldn't be able to go to the hospital this late. And that required him to get passed his sister and the cactus plants by his window. And while the cactus could be easily moved, he could barely stand to look at them. Collecting and caring for them was a hobby, but at the moment, he didn't want to see anything he cared for. His racket was shoved in his closet, his camera stuffed in a drawer, frames filled with pictures of loved ones slammed flat.

He also didn't want to see Ryoma at the moment. He was afraid of what he might see, was afraid that the damage in that split second accident would cause permanent damage. A space of time so tiny creating such horrible results, it was a fate many had shared.

No, Fuji wanted to see Ryoma still.

He just didn't want to see what he'd become.

His hands squeezed the blankets hard as he calculated that while over 15000 seconds have really passed since he'd locked himself away, in his mind he'd only counted 7356.

* * *

When Ryoma woke up in the morning, the first thing he always saw was Karupin. When he felt that warmth, he couldn't be more glad to have a companion like his cat. He'd always cared for his adored things more then he'd show, but that which he adored were special and irreplaceable.

So when he woke up with his cat by his side and tennis bag in sight, he knew he could face down anything.

And while he knew that everything came to an end, and while he sought the satisfaction of accomplishing that end through tennis, his logic would change to follow his desires. Comprehending and dealing with situations as they came worked for him, for he felt that he could tackle down anything or anyone with a racket and Karupin as mental support.

Ryoma's mind ignored the possibility that precious things had a life span as well, and one couldn't go around expecting the same thing for the rest of their life. But of course he'd never realize that until the time came.

Life was always unknowingly changing and ending.

* * *

Not snow. No, Ryoma wasn't pale like snow. Fuji, who always knew where and when to place words couldn't describe it. How could he have ever believed that he understood Ryoma's personality and quirks, when he still had this welling desire to know every single insignificant detail about him? He couldn't even put into coherent thought what Ryoma looked like at the moment.

It'd been a few days before they allowed him to come see him.

Fuji sat quietly at his bedside, a ruffled, ragged man (who he presumed was Ryoma's father) having asked him gruffly to make sure his son didn't wake up and cause even more trouble while he drove his wife and niece home to finish some things. While the voice and action seemed callous and cruel at first, Fuji could tell that underneath his uncaring attitude he was simply trying to look out for everyone. There was little he could do for Ryoma at the moment, and as long as there was a familiar face around in case he woke up, Fuji figured that he thought it would be a good time to rest up. They had all looked tired with dark smudges of fatigue swept under their eyes. Ryoma's father, through his worry, knew his family should not become worn down. That would help no one.

So he sat there, one hand on Ryoma's (the one without the needle feeding into his body), trying to at least warm it somewhat. He felt cold, blood loss leaving his body icy and pale. His skin blended in with the white linens, sickly in colour, his weakened body looking far too small for the bed.

It was all caused because of a car accident.

Fuji skipped tennis practise to some here instead. Ryoma's family had informed him that an animal had jumped onto the road, and a car swerved reflexively to avoid it. The rain had made the roads slick though, the car had skid and slid out of control momentarily onto the sidewalk.

Fuji noted that if Ryoma had left the house even ten seconds sooner or later he wouldn't have been touched. Instead, Ryoma was crushed in-between the brick wall and the side of the vehicle.

He recalled waiting for Ryoma. He recalled how he heard the rain fall and cars skid. He had thought nothing of it. But Ryoma must've heard those sounds too. The rain as he left the house and sickening squeal of the tires before pain and unconsciousness.

Competent surgeons, blood donations, successful rescue mission. If one wasn't a hundred percent readily available that day, Fuji doubted Ryoma would've survived. He heard Ryoma was wedged so awkwardly between the wall and car that some of the paramedics were at a complete loss. Ryoma had needed immediate attention, but the process was complicated, and moving the vehicle could cause more damage. The car had rammed into something as it slid wildly, parts breaking and coming loose. A part had been lodged in Ryoma's chest.

Moving the car could've killed him.

An auto-shop near by supplied the equipment needed to cut him out. Right after he had been rushed to the hospital in a chaotic whirl of shouting voices and flashing bloody hues. Ryoma spent hours upon hours in the emergency room.

Ryoma was now hooked up to many machines. Breathing mask in place, splints and bandages, gauze patches taped everywhere. Fuji ran his fingers over the cuts and scrapes covering the body, fingers pausing over the dotting bruises.

He was so engrossed with the markings on Ryoma's forearm that he didn't notice that Ryoma had awoken and was staring at him.

Ryoma squeezed the hand in his slightly, startling Fuji from his stupor. He looked up into fatigued and pained golden eyes desperately trying to look less pathetic and weak than they were. They stayed this way for a while longer until Ryoma finally looked away in shame, wincing slightly in the process.

"I failed to show…" His voice was ragged and breathless. There was a drunken slur in his voice from the painkillers. "I lost."

Fuji frowned at this, blue eyes glaring darkly. "That doesn't matter. You have more important things to worry about."

Ryoma just looked defeated, "…You're right."

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't be angry with you. I'm just worried." Fuji smiled apologetically. "Just concentrate on getting better."

"This…" Ryoma trailed off.

"This?"

"I didn't think it'd end like this… where tennis didn't matter."

Fuji just squeezed his hand tighter, smile starting to ache. "Neither did I. But I'm still here, ne?"

Ryoma did nothing back, but Fuji hadn't expected him to. The change in the path created an ending that neither would've guessed.

Ryoma didn't say anything else for the rest of the day, falling into a troubled sleep. In his mind he drowned in feelings of disappointment and failure. Losing could be remedied, but failure at his own lack of understanding of his own truth began creating a demon in his mind. In his dream he stood before a wide, deep chasm. A tennis racket in hand and Karupin at his feet assisted in keeping his nerves in check. The comfort felt like it was swallowing him blindingly though. For on the other side of the chasm, he saw the world.

But even with his comfort and weapon, there was no way of getting there.

* * *

Silence was a calming presence. Words weren't always needed. When there was silence, one could create their own world of thought to reside in. One could recap on what was learned.

Ryoma liked silence. When things were quiet he could concentrate on matters important to him. Being surrounded by people was never something that appealed greatly.

He strived for satisfaction and a goal. Recognition had no importance; it would serve only to distract him.

When things were silent, everything was always more clear. He could see the truth (either pretty or ugly), and deal with everything accordingly.

Silence and honesty. Together, the world seemed much clearer.

* * *

"Ne, ne, Oishi! I wanna see Ochibi! Nya! Why can't we see Ochibi?" Eiji's wailing could be heard as Fuji entered the courts for early morning practise.

"But Eiji, Tezuka wants us to wait a couple more days," Oishi said, trying to calm down his upset partner.

Eiji glared. "But why?! Nya! I wanna see Ochibi. Why should we wait? I bet Ochibi's sad because no one's gone to see him yet. We need to cheer him up!"

"Eiji, I think Tezuka just believes we need to give him some space for awhile. I heard it was quite bad, he's needs rest first." He placed a hand on Eiji's tense shoulder. "Just wait a bit, alright? We're all going to see him this weekend, that's in a few days. I even asked Tezuka to clarify."

Eiji's face softened. He nodded defeated. "Okay."

"I'm sure Echizen-kun's fine, Eiji." Fuji smiled at him.

"Gah! Fuji, when did you get here? And where were you yesterday after school, you skipper!" Eiji pointed accusingly at him.

"Ah, sorry. I just had some immediate errands to run."

"It's alright Fuji." Oishi smiled kindly. "You'll just have to work extra hard today."

"Un."

The golden pair walked away towards the courts for a warm-up game. Fuji watched them walk away and then looked around to see were everyone else was at. They were all working hard as expected. The world was carrying on just as always, even though his felt slowed and suppressed.

Everything was too loud, the vibrations reverberating in his mind and bones. It was the thwack of the tennis ball, the stomp of footsteps and cheerful whoops of joy that were dizzying the body, his mind hazy with sound.

His inner agitation and gloom had formed a type of amp, any sound feeding through growing and amplifying chaotically within him.

He wanted it all to stop. He wanted…

"Fuji."

A voice.

"What is it, Tezuka?" He turned and smiled flawlessly at the taller boy.

"You weren't here yesterday," he said, eyes direct and focused. "You shouldn't have skip practise to see Echizen. He needs rest." His voice hadn't changed at all from their earlier days. Just as demanding, just as dignified, just as steady.

Just as boring.

"I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about. I had some errands to run yesterday. That's all." Fuji's smile didn't look it, but it was strained, irritated. He didn't feel like being reprimanded. He knew what he had done. He knew of the consequences. Tezuka may be observant and good at reading people, but he didn't understand Fuji. Fuji wouldn't let him understand. Vulnerability to manipulation was something he'd never allow.

"That's enough Fuji. He needs rest, not provocation."

That voice was grating.

"You're wrong Tezuka." Fuji's eyes opened, his smile dropping darkly. "It's not enough. He needs to be provoked. He needs it to lead him on. Rest allows the mind to wander and destroy itself."

Tezuka said nothing. Fuji grinned cruelly at that.

"Funny isn't, ne?" he drawled out. "You want silence to think clearly, but it can destroy your mentality. The truth isn't always kind, and sometimes people need to live in a bright, lively… loud world to stay blissfully naïve."

Tezuka's silence was sweet on his ears.

"So tell me, what would you prefer?" he taunted Tezuka. "Silence for you I'm sure. Can you guess what I want?"

He gave Fuji a tired look. "You need rest."

Fuji had clamped his teeth down and smiled at the reprimanding voice. "You still understand nothing."

Tezuka stared at Fuji in a moment of silence before closing his eyes and turning away. "And whose fault do you think that is?"

Tezuka moved on after that, footsteps pounding too loud in Fuji's ears.

Of course it was Fuji's fault. He knew it. It didn't change anything though. Tezuka knew nothing about Fuji, and at this rate, he wouldn't understand Echizen either.

After all, he didn't see Ryoma on that hospital bed, weak and silent.

And as for what he wanted. Fuji decided he wanted neither.

He wanted a speaking silence someone could bring. Not the silence with a monotonous reprimanding 'Fuji'.

No.

He wanted that warm passionate silence that spoke to him in that sure cocky tone, the one that called to him and titled him as 'Fuji-sempai'.

* * *

Acceptance was always an easy concept to Ryoma. Denial never took you anywhere but circles. You accept something, deal with it accordingly, and then move on to the next task. It wasn't always easy to accept certain things -denial looking so much more inviting- but his end choice was easy. Accept what's given to you, and instead of throwing it back in their face immediately, plot, and then use it to get back at them.

It's what he did with tennis. If he were to ever lose, he'd accept the defeat, train, and beat them. From there he could move on with no regrets.

Some think of him as blunt and simple, some smart and sharp. Perhaps he was both.

It was always easier to accept the truth and get it over with than prolong the agony. He always thought that.

But variables change, and sometimes simplicity isn't all that easy.

* * *

Ryoma laid in the bed still, eyes slightly dimmed under all the layers of drugs and chemicals being fed into his system. He glanced at Fuji by his side, and then looked back towards the door expecting something.

Fuji noted how he'd glance up at the clock once in a while, his one only slightly battered knee (the other one having torn something) bouncing lightly under the blankets.

"Is something wrong, Echizen?"

"Not really." His replies were still slightly breathy, an air mask still attached over his mouth to his obvious displeasure. Knowing Ryoma, he probably wanted to get off the bed, pull off the things attached and connected to him, and do something much more interesting. Such as play tennis.

"Everyone's coming to see you tomorrow. Are you up for it?" Fuji tilted his head in amusement at Ryoma's irritated look.

"Everyone's so loud. I don't need to be hassled."

"They're just all worried about you," Fuji replied, smiling warmly. "Do you not want them to see you like this?"

"Doesn't really matter."

"I thought you'd want to see everyone again after being stuck on the bed the entire time."  
"I'm sleepy half the time because of the drugs." He yawned to prove his point. He glanced at Fuji. "That means you're coming, right?"

Fuji beamed at him. "Does this mean you want me to come?"

Fuji didn't miss the tired pout from under the breathing mask.

"Made made dane," Ryoma replied.

Fuji chuckled at boy wonders trademark line until it was interrupted by knocking at the door.

"Hello, am I disturbing something."

Fuji saw the doctor by the door, holding a clipboard and smiling kindly at them. It was a smile he recognized. Flawless and gentle, but not quite reaching the eyes.

Ryoma shook his head as much as his body allowed.

"I have some things to talk about. It's about your condition." He glanced at Fuji. "It may be something we should talk about alone."

Ryoma saw Fuji get up to leave, and for some reason, he wanted Fuji to be with him to hear whatever the doctor needed to say.

"He can stay."

The doctor looked slightly uncomfortable, rolling one of his shoulders back and giving Fuji a worrying look. Fuji simply took his place back in his seat at Ryoma's bedside, smiling fondly at him before nodding in acknowledgement to the doctor.

The doctor readjusted himself, composing himself professionally. "Echizen Ryoma, you were very badly damaged in the incident. You're recovering exceptionally well, and in a few weeks we should be able to let you out… however, there was one thing your father was concerned with."

Something cold was starting to slide down Fuji's spine as he saw the darkening look in this stranger's eyes. He glanced at Ryoma to see the younger boy looking unperturbed as he normally would. Whether or not he had noticed Fuji couldn't tell, Ryoma was like that, and he wasn't sure if he should worry.

"Un," sounded Ryoma, urging the doctor to continue.

Fuji reached out the hold Ryoma's hand. Ryoma looked at him but said nothing and made no attempt to move.

"It seems you're quite the tennis athlete," he continued on, "and your father was wondering if this accident would largely impact you're playing." The doctor stopped to see Ryoma's quiet inquiring eyes, Fuji's unreadable emotionless stare, and the hands that were loosely linked together. "Echizen-kun, I'm sorry. I'm afraid you can't play tennis anymore."

There was an eerie silence before Ryoma's quiet, "Why?" and a tight squeeze on Fuji's hand.

Yes… why? Fuji wanted to know why. When Fuji thought of Ryoma, he thought of many things, but tennis was among the first. Ryoma played beautiful tennis, blinding and eye capturing. Tennis was in Ryoma's soul and Fuji wanted to know what could possibly tear him away from it.

"It's true that your broken arm, injured leg, cracked and broken ribs, and fractured hip will all heal at this rate. It may be more difficult, but you would still be allowed to play. Echizen-kun, your chest was punctured and crushed. I'm sorry to say this but you damaged your lungs. I'll go more into detail with you later when you're parents are here, but you can't play tennis, especially not at your competitive level. You mustn't do any strenuous tasks that will make you short of breath."

Ryoma offered him silence, eyes staring, hand holding Fuji's tight.

"I have some things to take care of. I'm really sorry, but it's for your health. You'll have some breathing problems from now on. Simple tasks will take more out of you. Continuing anything in a breathless state can result in more serious injuries. I'm afraid tennis isn't suited for someone in your condition. I'll come back later at five, so I'll be taking my leave now."

Ryoma nodded curtly. "I understand."

Fuji doesn't remember hearing the door shut, nor does he notice how Ryoma's hand now hangs loose in his. He remembered telling Ryoma he'd be back in a bit, and that he just needed to check on something briefly. He thought he saw Ryoma nod his head, but he couldn't be sure, not with his normal blank look on his face.

Fuji ran out into the hallway to catch up with and speak to the doctor.

"Ano, but… when you said tennis, did you mean none at all?" Fuji's smile was forced, Fuji's smile was concerned yet flawless, Fuji's smile hurt.

The doctor gave him a sympathetic look. "Yes, I'm afraid that is the case. I suppose eventually he could play very light non-competitive games for a very short time period, but other than that, I strongly recommend nothing more."

"I see."

The doctor had said earlier that tennis couldn't suit someone with Ryoma's condition, that tennis couldn't suit Ryoma. Tennis and Ryoma came racket in hand, always together when on the courts. He tried to picture Ryoma in a world where tennis no longer existed and where there were no longer sounds of tennis balls bouncing. It reminded him of what children do sometimes in ignorance, where when they catch butterflies and other insects, they smile and hold it carefully with sticky fingers, and then with those same innocent and sugar blemished hands, they pull off the wings in cruel curiosity.

"It's really too bad," said the doctor sighing. "I heard he was good enough to make pro and had the potential to reach the top rankings of the world. Though it's still potential, it's potential wasted."

"Sa," Fuji thought he heard himself say. "He really was quite something."

"I've seen good athletes fall before. It's always tragic." He paused and seemed to ponder here. "But he took it surprisingly well."

Fuji couldn't have agreed more. Ryoma took it well, exceedingly well in fact. Too well. Had he not been holding Ryoma's hand he doubted he would've noticed any distress at all.

Acceptance, he knew Ryoma always took it well. That's how Ryoma was.

All the same, it didn't break Fuji's heart any less as he watched Ryoma accept the shadowed constricting hands as they indifferently tore off the natural wings that allowed him to fly free on the courts.

* * *

The end couldn't give Ryoma the satisfaction he wanted.

In fact, the finish line he struggled to cross had him wishing he never kept going when the rain, thunder, and lightning challenged him. When the rain came, he'd now wished he didn't fight through, but let the rain wash him away along with his ambition and desire for finishing.

It would've hurt less that way.

* * *

"Fwshhh."

"Ochibi! Are you alright?! I've missed you! Get better soon so I can beat you for making me worry so much!"

Ryoma cringed at the loud voice. His head still rang dizzily when things were too loud. And the loudness was everywhere.

"Oi, Echizen!" Momo smiled widely. "I'm glad you're doing okay, you had us all really worried."

"Is that so?" He didn't bother hiding his boredom in the statement. He just wanted to sleep. Sleep sounded nice, just to get away from this loud reality. He was sure there was something else he wanted to get away from, but he didn't want to think about it.

"You could at least try to sound grateful Ochibi!" Eiji complained. "You've been skipping out on practise and not sending any info on your condition. And Tezuka didn't let anyone see you until now because he wanted you to rest or something!"

Fuji saw his hands clench at the word 'practise'. He decided to change the subject. "Well, Eiji, we're all here now. Let's make the most of it, ne?"

"Yeah! Alright Ochibi, I'm going to tell you about my adventure yesterday at the zoo!"

Fuji stepped out in the hallway to clear his head. Sighing softly he turned to greet the one leaning against the wall. "Hello Tezuka."

Tezuka nodded back and Fuji smiled automatically in reply.

"Everyone seems so lively today. It's nice to see. That room is far too dreary."

They carried on silence for a moment before Tezuka spoke, mind working and suspicious. "You know something."

"You think I know something, Tezuka?"

"If it's regarding Echizen, it may be something I need to know."

"Sa, but if it was really important, he would tell you himself, ne?" Fuji's smile and voice were kind, but his eyes were daring. "Don't tell me you're interested in him as well."

"Fuji," he warned.

"Not everything's black and white. Now if you excuse me, I've had enough air."

Tezuka was always good at noticing disturbances in normal behaviour patterns. Ryoma would tell him if he wanted to, it wasn't for Fuji to say. From the looks on everyone's faces when he entered, he guessed Ryoma hadn't told anyone yet, all the regulars (plus or minus a few people) acting normal and cheery.

"So how's the food Echizen-kun?" asked Oishi. "Hospital food doesn't have a good reputation."

"Never fear Oishi!" chirped Eiji. "After all those years of Inui's scary drinks, I'm sure this is nothing!"

"If you want," said Inui, "I'm sure I could come up with a special energy drink for you if the food's not to your liking." He grinned as drink possibilities swam in his head.

"No! You'll end up killing Ochibi!"

Fuji saw Ryoma's tired face and dimming eyes. He saw the strain in his body. "Sa, maybe we should all be a little less loud. This is a hospital and Echizen-kun is still recovering."

Ryoma stopped paying attention long before. He fell deep into his mind where there was nothing but a void. Something inside him hurt. He wanted it to stop. The door of tennis had slammed right on his face. His door to tennis was always so large and inviting. And as time grew on, that door had grown leaving little space left for anything else. Now that it shut, and all the others doors remained sketchy and tiny, only opened a crack, he wasn't sure which way to go.

He wanted his grand doors open to him again, or he wanted those closed doors gone from the empty room of broken pathways.

There were so many doors, only one among them seemed safe. But it was new and still closed completely, and he wasn't sure if he wanted to try to open it.

Not knowing might hurt less.

* * *

When Ryoma was a young boy, he remembered playing basketball. He remembered the art of weaving through players while dribbling the ball. He liked tossing the ball and watching it fall victoriously through the hoop.

There was always tennis, but it was never a main priority where basketball was concerned.

As time went on, basketball was becoming more and more frustrating as people showed poor sportsmanship.

Ryoma hated foul play.

He had enough of basketball after losing his temper at the other students for continuously fouling him when the teacher wasn't looking.

In tennis, a net always separated one from the other player.

Ryoma still hated foul play.

But what can one do when fate fouls you?

* * *

It was a whirl of colours and blurred shapes that ran across his window. Ryoma bounced lightly in motion on the leather seat, injured leg propped up on the other, as his eyes stared wordlessly out his car window. The seatbelt worn across his chest like a sash held him in position and kept his slung arm held tightly to his chest. It felt like a prison he didn't want to escape from, the outside world feeling foreign to his nerves and self.

'Home' was something he was having trouble associating himself with. What was home to him? Everything was different now. There was no more tennis, and he'd have to move on to something else. He somehow expected a new home with a new life and path to follow, a home with a new guideline and a new game to play. What was he to do now that tennis was no longer the game he could enjoy dominating in?

He didn't know.

His father had been quieter and less teasing since the incident, his mother more protective, his cousin visiting more frequently from out of town (she had graduated last year and was starting to settle down), often staying at their old place of residence with his mother and father.

Everyone had visited him at least once a week, sometimes in groups, sometimes alone.

He noted how Fuji always came on his own, and how he visited Ryoma the most frequently. He would bring with him a comfortable silence where he'd often hold Ryoma's hand, tracing designs with gentle fingertips or rubbing soothingly with his thumb. Ryoma never minded, and let the warm actions put him in a comfortable daze where the ache in his heart numbed. Fuji would sometimes tell him interesting stories of his life in a soft lullaby voice, brushing Ryoma's bangs away from his forehead, Ryoma feeling too nice and drowsy to notice.

They never spoke of that Sunday. The incident that day was like a pebble tossed into a pond. It was a small and insignificant event to the outside world, chaos dropping into reality, where its events continued to ripple and spread, until it lessoned and faded with the surface of reality returning to appear smooth and glassy. Ryoma had awoken from his dream and into a nightmare reality that plunged him deep into a truth where no lies could live and glamour him.

Truth, he'd always prefer the truth. Just like how he would accept everything as it came, and how he would continue to reach the satisfaction of closure. Just like all these things, he hated dirty play. He lived by many morals, ethics, and unwritten personal rules. He'd follow the rules as he played life's game with all the twists, turns, falls and rises. He played the game with wit, patience, and skill, excelling steadily over the other players. There were always areas that lacked, but he knew how to play his strengths. And the routes in the game he chose and played always were pushed on by his strengths.

With the route and strategy he picked, and with his intelligence and understanding, he could've easy used his skills of the rules to come out on top.

But as the car stopped and he saw his house for the first time in weeks, body useless for his normal everyday life, he realised he forgot an important factor of the game.

Fate was also a player of the game, and unlike the other participants, it had no rules to follow. It roamed the board freely and down any path it desired. It could cheat and assist, just as it could foul and break someone with a blink of an eye.

The car door opened and his father stood there to help him get out. His fathers face while appearing normal, held a sympathetic look to his eyes. Nanjiroh could only watch as his son tried to adapt to the new route fate had dropped him on, and as Ryoma would come to realise that his rules wouldn't work as he travelled along it.

Ryoma would always face all that obscured his path, carrying on reaching the end. But one could see Ryoma in his own manor, journeying in a blind state, as while he moved, the pebble sank deeper into reality where there was nothing but black oblivion.

* * *

Mirrors were seen as a sign of vanity. And while Ryoma was snarky and held enough confidence to be considered arrogant, he was not vain. He didn't preen or even acknowledge his good looks. He simply looked like that, and as long as he wasn't turning funny shades and gaining any odd or extra parts to his body, he saw no need to worry.

Skill is what mattered to him, not whether how your hair needed to be gelled or styled.

In the morning, Ryoma took no more than a couple seconds looking in the mirror, a check for any irregulars and defects and he was done. He always thought one should look like themselves, and he thought that the natural him unchanged by drugstore supplies suited him best.

After all, on the tennis court, looks wouldn't help you against a skilled opponent (unless they were shallow, he conceded, but if they lost because they were too caught up in the others face and body, they deserved it).

So when Ryoma woke up and went to bed, he'd glance in the mirror briefly before passing on and thinking nothing of it.

It was him he always saw, and that was all he ever needed to see.

* * *

Dark ruffled hair. Golden-brown eyes. Light sun-kissed skin. High cheek bones and defined jaw line. Pouty mouth with full lips.

He saw his face staring back at him through the mirror hanging on the wall above the sink Never before had he looked at the mirror this long. Before now, he'd never taken the time to notice how his surroundings in the mirror were flipped, the names scribbled on his cast changed and hard to read. Everything looked strange in the world behind the glass.

Everything was wrong with the picture before him. The world within the mirror couldn't have always looked like this, always this surreal, always this unnatural, everything within it never seen before, hiding shadows within its smooth barrier.

Was it always this mocking?

A mirror was supposed to reflect the real world in a flip side version that mirrored it exactly.

Had something happened within the reversed reality? Or perhaps it was doing what it had all along, and what he saw was the truth that was hidden. Whether it was reality concealing him or him concealing reality, he couldn't tell you.

Of course he knew that he didn't look how he always did in the mirror. He didn't normally wear a cast, nor was he usually this pale with dark shadows cast under his eyes like bruises. He acknowledged those changes easily, but as he looked into the smooth, unblemished surface of the mirror, he found he couldn't tear his gaze away.

His appearance was fine as always. He didn't look horrid or deformed; nothing out of the ordinary. Ryoma didn't understand why he couldn't just move on as he normally did.

He had forgotten to check his appearance in the morning, his mind pulling him away as he challenged school. He was given a ride by his father. And the day passed by in a blur. There were countless amounts of people questioning him with excited or sympathetic voices. His fangirls were endlessly trying to help him with things and being extra nice. Offering him lunch when they had no extras for themselves, asking to carry his things or telling him to call them if he ever needed assistance.

It was all pointless and he wanted to escape from it all. Ryoma didn't want the annoying pity they were offering, served on a platinum platter looking so pretty and wonderful, fancy fabricated doilies underneath the tasteless serving. It left bitterness glazed in his mouth, churning the stomach in queasiness.

The day was ugly and dull with nothing to look forward to at the end or after it. Everything went by unremembered and labelled as uneventful in his mind, which soon after was disposed of. He only remembered two people during the duration of his school day, everyone else thrown away.

Tezuka and Fuji.

Tezuka was always a welcome presence. His knowledgeable silence left him feeling calm. Ryoma never had to explain himself to him, and Tezuka had always been there to help guide him should he stray away from his path. Ryoma was sure Tezuka knew the truth. When Tezuka had approached him that day all he said was a simple 'I'm sorry'. Ryoma had looked away, memories welling up and drowning him. He had asked him not to tell anyone, and left at Tezuka's nod. He knew it wouldn't always be like this with Tezuka. Things have changed, and Ryoma doubts that Tezuka can guide him now on this new unknown path.

Fuji had become a more common character in his life of late. He didn't know what he thought of him. All he knew was that Fuji helped ease the pain with his warm silence and soft soothing voice. Fuji understood him, but would never show how much. Perhaps that actually did show how much he understood Ryoma though, clever eyes never missing a heartbeat.

He was more than a perpetually smiling face. And although Fuji came to see him under a tree at lunch that day wearing his smiling face, Ryoma knew he was concerned. They sat in silence with Fuji being a comfortable weight at his side.

Ryoma had stared at nothing ignoring everything around him. He had felt Fuji glance at him ever so often by the tingle humming over his spine. Perhaps Fuji saw something he didn't that had him staring so long. Surely it was much longer than he had ever looked at himself.

Appearance, fabricated and distorted.

Ryoma didn't understand anything. Appearance. Yourself. Character. Identity. What was it anyone saw? What did he ever see but something he believed and pursued as truth?

_Smash…_

_Crack…_

_Shatter…_

Shards rained down in a blinding and chaotic matter, shattering into broken pieces as gravity pulled them to unforgiving surfaces. The shards had captured many images on its tumble down, twirling until those images were nothing but fragmented memories splayed across the floor in a jagged miscellaneous matter.

They too, had fallen wingless to be broken.

And as Ryoma stared at the mirror, there was no change in his expression, only a slight satisfaction in the eyes. His mind had ignored the throbbing pain of his hand, clenched tightly, and knuckled white at his side. Crimson warmth ran from gashes to drop steadily on the glass rained floor. He let his hand relax after a moment, truly seeing his reflection for the first time this day.

It was cracked, stretching out from the centre to create a web pattern that held a distorted appearance. Pieces were missing here and there, the surface no longer smooth, but rough and marred.

It was only seconds before he moved on and away from his image, no longer needing to look.

He always moved on after seeing _himself _in the mirror.

After all.

* * *

Ryoma always believed in opportunities. They would always appear once in a while, holding promise in their brilliant form. He always knew that one had to be careful where opportunities were concerned. Sometimes they were dark deeds disguising themselves with a false brightness.

Opportunities always lead way to new beginnings, new paths, and new adventures.

And Ryoma always loved a new chance at a new thrill.

He adored that adrenaline rush or excitement, where possibilities of new untouched adventures sang along his veins in a thrilling matter.

He always sought closure, because he wanted that satisfaction. It was only with that closure that he could start again for that same feeling of accomplishment. It was why he accepted everything so easily. He always wanted to start again on new, or could be improved upon adventures.

Ryoma always knew that there could be more than one door to enter, and it could always branch out to many more.

Sometimes he'd need a guide, but he'd always find his end eventually.

* * *

There was something about Ryoma under the starlight by a tennis court that both entranced and tore at Fuji's heart. It was beautiful warm night, the sky clear and the waning moon glowing eerily.

Ryoma sat alone by a tennis court, never daring to walk upon it.

Fuji approached him quietly, Ryoma not noticing his presence until he sat himself next to him. The boy had glanced at him surprised, before then quickly schooling his features to his normal bored look.

Fuji simply smiled at him gently, placing his hand atop his, eyes shadowed slightly as he took in the battered hand, blood stains designed like forked rivers. He felt Ryoma lean on him slightly, and his sad smile grew.

"Fuji…"

"Yes?"

Ryoma's eyes were tired, frustrated, and looking slightly lost like a child. "I'm not sure… I don't know where to start."

"That's something you're going to have to find yourself," he paused thinking briefly for a moment, "Ryoma."

"I know Fuji-sempai."

Fuji smiled a little, slightly amused. It lacked the same passion and arrogance as before, but the familiarity of the past warmed him. But he knew that he couldn't stay in the past. That would block off many possibilities of the future.

"You can call me by my first name."

Ryoma shuffled in his spot, turning to rest his head on Fuji's shoulder. He sighed tiredly and let himself indulge in the warm comfort. "You're Fuji-sempai. You'll always be my Fuji-sempai." He yawned and gazed upward, stars winking at him. "Maybe one day it'll change, but for now it's Fuji-sempai."

"Un," Fuji agreed in understanding.

They were both aware of the bond starting to grow on them. Ryoma had become something special to Fuji, as Ryoma found comfort in Fuji.

"But you don't mind me calling you Ryoma though?"

Fuji felt Ryoma shake his head, lazily and very cute in his opinion. "Fuji-sempai can call me anything he wants."

His smile turned mischievous, eyes opening in amusement. "Anything?"

Ryoma tilted his head back and shot him a look. "Within reason." Fuji still had that smile. "Strong reason."

A chuckle was heard in response.

They fell into another one of their comfortable silences, words not needing to be said. The court fence was pressed against their backs, facing away from the actual court and towards the trees that grew in the park. Fuji thought that perhaps Ryoma had fallen asleep until he heard his voice.

"Why are you always here?"

He needed no time to think of a response. "I'm interested in you. I personally make sure that I look after all that I cherish." His voice was full of sincerity and honesty.

Ryoma didn't know how to respond.

"Besides, Ryoma. You were always so fun to tease. And I've always wanted to see your blush. I figure the more I'm around you the more I'll see!"

He could've sworn Ryoma glared irritably had he bothered to look. "Made made dane."

Ryoma was still fundamentally the same person. May be a little broken on the inside, and may never ever be the same. But those broken pieces could always be pieced together to create something else. And with new experiences it'd grow into something just as charming, the basic structure still influencing and keeping who he is.

"Fuji-sempai, I was thinking."

"What is it you're thinking about?"

"I don't know where to go from here, but I know I need to keep moving forward." He firmly entwined and held Fuji's hand. "I was wondering if I could move along side of you until I find my own path."

"Your own path?"

"A path that suits me… however," Ryoma turned towards him, "I'd like it to coincide with yours, Fuji-sempai."

"I'd like that too. I'll take you wherever you need to go." With his promise, he sealed it with a light kiss to his brow, sweet and warm.

Their bond and relationship wasn't a perfect one, the foundation of it being competition and pain. But it held them together and opened up new and wonderful opportunities. The strings holding Ryoma would slowly fall away as they became unneeded, him standing on his own two feet. And if he were to ever stumble, Fuji would be there to catch him.

He may no longer have the wings needed to soar above everyone else and to the top, but he had freedom of movement and a companion. And with those he could climb and conquer any mountain.

Presently asleep under a star lit sky, with a future to wake up next to each other in the new dawn, filled with opportunities and new adventures. It wasn't the closure Ryoma was expecting, and while it was full of pain and broken dreams, it was one he accepted and grew to be satisfied with.

With a new path and different securities, he now sought out the new finish line presented before him.

end


End file.
